Scars
by The Solar Surfer
Summary: Father-son hurt!fic with Beck and Tron, who has troubles with his old injuries but refuses to deal with them. One-shot.


**Scars**

Beck didn't know much about Tron.

This was even truer, considering they knew each other for quite a while now. Tron both lived up to all the legends Beck heard of, as well as proving to be so much more than that. Yes, he was brave, and smart, and probably the greatest warrior on the Grid ever created...but he was also quiet, calculating, and above all stoic, which was all too prevalent now.

Beck was training in the simulation room, fighting Sentries in a mock-up of Tesler's base, or what they knew of it from the building plan Beck stole a couple cycles ago. Someday soon, they were going to break in and rescue convicts to Clu's army — but until then, Beck had to practice.

Another thing he learned about Tron was that the guy had a sense of humor, if a bad one. As Beck snuck down the fake halls, slipping past security sensors and the watchful gaze of the guards, he was acutely aware that Tron was hiding among them. Tron had disguised himself as a Sentry, identical to the rest, and Beck was having a hell of a time trying to avoid him.

The first few times, it was hard. Each time Beck tripped a motion sensor, half a dozen guards fell on him, and more often than Tron was among them. Or sometimes Tron just jumped him from behind, an arm around his neck, a punch to the gut _that really hurt_.

And the worst thing about it was that Tron was completely silent as he moved. Not a word, or a warning. All Beck could sense was the cold gaze of a killer, hunting him down relentlessly.

Good thing Tron was on his side.

This was, what, Round 17 now? Beck was surprised the old Program could keep going, although he knew better than to say that out loud, in case Tron heard him. His audio sensors still rang from that last sucker punch.

Beck was currently hiding in a tight alcove as a group of Sentries marched by, before ducking out and heading the way they came. There was no real goal to this simulation; just get to the cell blocks as fast as you can, without anyone seeing you. Stealth was key, obviously, and Beck considered himself pretty good, thanks. But of course Tron was better.

...Or so he thought.

Beck had played this sim enough times to start building a path to use when traversing this hellish maze of a fortress, and right now was the time to be clambering up to the rafters and keeping absolutely still as a fake-Pavel walked by with a troupe of Black Guards — which, although not real either, fought better than the Sentries, and nearly as deadly as Tron.

But then he noticed something. One of them was marching out of sync.

Beck frowned, squinting to make sure he saw it right. The Program was only a split-second off with the rhythmic footsteps, hardly worth notice if this were the real thing, but Beck still found it odd. Was it a glitch in the simulation? These weren't even real Programs, this shouldn't be happening right now...

Unless it wasn't the simulation.

Beck was up there longer than he had to be, because he was too focused on that one Black Guard to think about his current objective. Instead, he followed the group along the rafters, observing the Black Guard to test his hypothesis.

Of course, none of the other Programs noticed because they weren't real, weren't designed to pick up on that. If that really was Tron, then he was invisible to them, as he should've been to Beck. He waited as the outlier passed underneath him.

Beck jumped.

He meant to land on Tron's shoulders with the intent of knocking him over, but Tron vanished right beneath him. Bewildered, Beck yelped when he landed on his feet, only to be kicked in the back and sent sprawling on his chest.

But Beck was not dazed enough to just lie there and allow Tron another hit. As soon as his knees hit the ground, Beck rolled, narrowly dodging another disc strike that would've ended the sim. The faceless Black Guard was standing over him, just as unrecognizable as the rest, but both Programs knew Tron's game was up.

He tried to strike again, slashing upwards as Beck jumped to his feet, but Beck managed to duck. Throwing himself forward, Beck caught Tron around the midsection, knocking the both of them to the floor, Tron's disc skittering away.

Beck opened his mouth to proclaim victory, only to get a fierce uppercut that knocked him away. "Agh!"

As he hit the ground, the walls started to fade, returning to the large blank room with glowing floors that Beck recognized as the sim room. Helmet falling away, Beck rubbed his jaw and winced. "Did you _have_ to hit me so hard?"

"What were you doing?" Tron demanded, getting to his feet. The Black Guard outfit derezzed to show the white beneath, along with the familiar scowl that Tron typically wore. "You were supposed to head to the cell blocks!"

"I saw you," Beck made a face, getting to his feet. Tron didn't look particularly pleased at Beck's deviation from the plan. "I wanted to get the jump on you."

"What? _Why_?"

"I don't know. Because I could?" Beck could only shrug. It was kind of stupid, really, considering it in hindsight. Did he really think he could best Tron with only the element of surprise? Not even Clu had won with that idea. "But I was right, wasn't I? That has to mean I'm getting better."

Tron frowned at him, then glanced away. "How did you know it was me?"

"You were walking different. Limping."

"I wasn't _limping_." Tron spun away from Beck, apparently offended, although to be honest he just looked angrier. "You should've focused on the plan, Beck, and not get distracted. We don't have time to fool around when time is a factor."

Beck knew Tron long enough to know when the old Program was avoiding a topic. He trotted after the warrior, saying, "You didn't answer my question!"

"You didn't _ask_ a question."

"Oh," Beck shook his head, then rephrased his thoughts. "Okay, then. _Why_ are you limping? They're not acting up again, are they?"

Beck was talking about the scars that Tron hid — there was still some faint pixilation on his face, but most of it was deftly hidden by glamour code, maybe something Flynn created. Tron had told Beck stories of how the Creator could mask his own footprint and make himself appear as a Program to the denizens of the Grid. Tron must be using something similar, to escape Clu's search.

They never really talked about it, though, even when Beck first found out. He knew Tron had been captured by Clu, but he never could've guessed what Clu had done while he had Tron captive. He didn't blame Tron for keeping it to himself — they were hardly the kind of moment one wanted to relive — but it annoyed him how much Tron just _avoided_ everything that could be considered a personal setback.

Maybe Tron didn't like the idea that he was damaged. That he might be a liability, or have one, himself. For Beck, it was just another problem to fix, a job for a mechanic to handle. To a warrior, it might mean the death of a User.

"They are," Beck said, frowning when Tron turned away. "Aren't they?"

"Focus on the mission, Beck."

"What?" the idea of even thinking about anything else at all right now was completely crazy. Beck knew that maybe he was crossing the line now, that Tron wasn't very personal to begin with, and this might not end well for him, but he'd be damned if he didn't try. "Come on! Don't walk away from me, please. When's the last time you used the healing chamber? I know it doesn't really fix anything, but if you're hurt —"

" _Beck_ ," Tron stopped, turned a quarter ways and held up his hand, stopping Beck in his tracks. "I am not your responsibility. It's the other way around, do you understand? I'm the last person you have the worry about around here."

"You're the _only_ person around here I'm worried about," Beck threw out his arms, but once more Tron just kept walking, as if he could somehow abandon this conversation. Tron did that sometimes. He just stopped talking when it came to stuff about himself, anything he didn't like to tell Beck. "I'm not trying to be annoying here, I'm just — I don't want you to push yourself too hard."

The sound Tron made to that was a combination of disbelief and scorn. "Beck, I've seen more in one cycle than you have in your entire existence. This Occupation is bits in comparison to what happened on the Encom Grid, the MCP. I handled it then, I can handle it now."

"Until you _can't_ ," Beck said, and winced at his own gumption. Calling Tron out on his bluff was a dangerous maneuver, particularly when Beck felt that Tron wasn't even bluffing. "I'm not going to stop being worried just because you tell me to. The MCP was a long time ago. Like, a _really_ long time ago. Things are different now. _You're_ different now."

Tron turned to the giant glass windows overlooking the snowy Outlands. He didn't say anything.

Beck kept going. "You're always telling me to be careful. That one stupid mistake, that one little accident, can just end it all. Well, I think the same goes for you. You're not a User, Tron. You're just like the rest of us. And I don't want to end up… alone just because you think you're better than that. I've already lost too many friends. If you're gone, then Clu wins."

There came a heavy sigh. The old program didn't look Beck in the eye, seemed too ashamed. "Alright, Beck, fine. I'll use the healing chamber."

Beck's shoulders nearly sagged in relief. "Okay, well —"

"But if you ever again suggest the idea that I'm too old for this," Tron said, his voice suddenly sharp, giving Beck a hard look. "I'll make you _walk_ all the way back to Argon."

Tron probably meant that threat, yet Beck couldn't help smiling. "Deal."


End file.
